Just One of Those Days

Today was just one of those days.

Jones, who's normally really sweet and well-behaved, was exceptionally sweet and well-behaved. He was smiley and didn't put any foreign objects in his mouth and took two ninety-minute naps. When I took my wallet away from him in the line at Babies R Us, he didn't scream as if I'd just pulled his teeth without anesthesia. And when we went to dinner at what would generally be his bedtime, he acted like being up late was as easy as holding up his sippy cup: "No problem, Mom. I got this."

Yes, today was one of those days. I'm sitting here at the end of it, and I can't help but think to myself, "Man. If every day were like THIS, I'd have a million kids!"

Yesterday, on the other hand, was NOT one of those days.

Still worn out from our weekend at the lake, Jones woke up early. He went on to sleep a sum total of 40 minutes during the day and proceeded to cry for about 25 minutes before finally falling asleep last nite. He didn't want to be held. He didn't want to crawl around. He didn't want to watch "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse." To be honest, I don't know what he wanted, but I am very aware of what he didn't want.

Bedtime couldn't come early enough - for me or for him. "Good riddance" blazed across my mind, as I closed his door and headed straight to the sanity of soaking in a hot tub.

I guess you could say, "it was just one of THOSE days."

Twelve hours after storming out of his room, I was awakened in the usual way. Jeremy and I will never need an alarm clock, so long as there's a baby monitor beside our bed, and today, as he always does, Jones woke up, talking to himself in squeal-y, happy sounds that make me think he's been dreaming of faraway places where every boy has a pony and every meal is a choice between cotton candy and ice cream.

The next step in our daily dance is mine. I walked down the hall and opened the door to Jones's room.  "Where's-my- Bug-a-Boo?" I asked in a pitch that's not naturally my own. "WHERE'S my Buggggg-a-Boooooo?!" Jones scooted around to see me. I smiled; he smiled, and when he did, my heart exploded in the same way it does every morning. I picked him up and smothered both cheeks - and his forehead - with a million kisses. Had you seen our reunion, you'd have thought we'd been apart for a year, but no. It'd only been a few hours, just since the day before.

The day before.

THE DAY BEFORE.

HOW HAD I FORGOTTEN THE "TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD" DAY BEFORE?

And yet I had. The sturm and the drang was all forgotten; it'd dissipated completely, just like one of Jones's baby monitor squeals that disappears as soon as it starts.

"This is what it means," I thought to myself, hugging the sweetest son God ever gave any one. "This is what it means that His 'mercies are new every morning.'"

The "sturm" and the "drang" of all my "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days" (and yours, too!) dissipates daily before my Heavenly Father, Whose "steadfast love never ceases" (Lamentations 3:22-23). When He sees me, His heart explodes in the same way it does every morning.

And the best part is, with God, it is ALWAYS "one of those days."

What a God we serve!

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(This video isn't from this morning, but it's still a pretty good illustration of our daily routine.)

Meditations on a Safety Restraint

(I know it's often said that teachers often learn more from their students than they teach them. In the same way, parents learn more from their children than the other way around.  This has definitely been true in my short tenure as a mama. God has taught me so much from watching Jones and from thinking on things that he does (or doesn't). It occurred to me yesterday that preserving these stories are just as important as keeping track of things, like teething or obsessing over the old remote control his daddy gave him yesterday. It's in that spirit that I'm gonna try to start posting these alongside the milestones.)

From day one, Jones has been a really good traveler. 

It's a good thing, too, because in his first ten months, he's already made multiple visits to Kentucky, flights to and from Nebraska, a couple drives to Lake Chatuge, several trips to Tennessee, and a two-day haul almost to the tip of Florida. These and other trips are all in addition to our weekly jaunts from Canton to Greenville and back again.  If he looks just like Daddy, at least he got a love of the road that is all Mama. 

There have been a handful of times that he's fought being put in his carseat - or fussed after being in it too long. For the most part, though, he seems completely cool just being along for the ride. I set him in his seat, and for all he knows, we're going to dentist or the doctor or the moon, for Pete's sake. Still, he sits there all peaceful and cooperative, as I battle the straps that keep him securely in place. 

This struck me from early on. I'd wonder, Does he ever wonder where we're about to go? Does he ever want to toss in his two cents as to which direction we should head?  Does he ever think, "Sorry, Mama. I'm just gonna stay here." Heaven knows, I do. Jeremy and I get strapped into our seats, and I've got a thousand thoughts about which route we should take, which lane we should be in, what speed we should go.

But one day it occurred to me that Jones's passive approach to traveling is the more Biblical way to be. As God "drives" us down the road He's paved for our lives, He knows where we're going. All I need to do is be peaceful and cooperative, trusting Him, as Jones trusts me, that He'll get me where I need to be. 

Instead I, once again, "battle the straps" that are meant to keep me in His plan.  I want the roadmap; I want to share my input. I've come to realize, though, that Jones's sort of trusting obedience is another aspect of what Jesus is talking about when He says that we must "become like children" to enter the kingdom of Heaven (Matthew 18:3).

I know Jeremy, for one, is VERY hopeful I'm able to master this concept!